|
|
| |
|
Dance with the Dead
|
|
|
|
It pulls me down threatening to strangle all it can.
The weight no longer bearable as the darkness engulfs my world.
Struggling in vain, trying to clamber to the top and just look out.
But all is in despair.
|
|
|
|
All that once was light and glowed with such intensity left me blinded.
There was no clink at the door for the voice had lost its luster and eyes dulled in pain.
|
The mantle greyed to a shadow cast upon the cloistered shape which no more resembled a heart.
The suffocating stifled and became secure, locked in stagnant congestion.
Was that a scream of last resort or one of sheer exultation?
To free the useless soul into the dwelling place of the righteous, where His angels shelter a life
beyond?
|
|
|
|
|
|
I now heave into the oblivious ravine, going lower than the messenger proclaimed.
|
The pack throng, goading henceforth until the end of time.
We had forever, but it never came to greet the day like crystals shimmering on tropical sands.
The submissive drained of existence has been aborted, carrying enervated bonds broken and shattered,
until left dissipated and scattered to the winds.
The light particles catching the odoriferous substance that once filled senses and highlighted to
stimulate, falsely kindled wanton minds.
Vitality drained as the grey turned to black and days turned to weeks. Silence became deafening,
ear-splitting, emphasising the downcast into humble oppression.
The sinking was inevitable.
|
|
|
|
|
|
The struggle complete.
The despairing gone.
written � A Dickson 13 January 2000.
Images Copyright � Fullmoon Graphics
http://www.fullmoongraphics.com/
|
|
|
